I feigned repentance, friendship pure;
That mood she did not check,
But let her husband's miniature
Be copied from her neck.

As means to search him, my deceit
Took care to him was borne
Nought but his picture's counterfeit,
And Jane's reported scorn.

The treachery took: she waited wild;
My slave came back and lied
Whate'er I wished; she clasped her child,
And swooned, and all but died.

I felt her tears for years and years
Quench not my flame, but stir:
The very hate I bore her mate
Increased my love for her.

Fame told us of his glory, while

;

Joy flushed the face of Jane
And whilst she blessed his name, her smile
Struck fire into my brain.

No fears could damp; I reached the camp,
Sought out its champion;

And if my broadsword failed at last,
"Twas long and well laid on.

This wound's my meed, my name's Kinghorn,

My foe's the Ritter Bann.'

The wafer to his lips was borne,

And we shrived the dying man.

He died not till you went to fight
The Turks at Warradein;

But I see my tale has changed you pale."

The Abbot went for wine;

And brought a little page

who poured

It out, and knelt and smiled:

The stunned knight saw himself restored
To childhood in his child;

And stooped and caught him to his breast,
Laughed loud and wept anon,

And with a shower of kisses pressed

The darling little one.

"And where went Jane?"" To a nunnery,

Look not again so pale

Kinghorn's old dame grew harsh to her."

"And has she ta'en the veil ?"

'

"Sit down, Sir," said the priest, “ I bar

Rash words." They sat all three,

Sir

And the boy played with the knight's broad star, As he kept him on his knee.

"Think ere you ask her dwelling-place,"

The abbot further said;

“Time draws a veil o'er beauty's face

More deep than cloister's shade.

Grief may have made her what you can
Scarce love perhaps for life."

Hush, abbot," cried the Ritter Bann,
"Or tell me where's my wife."

The priest undid two doors that hid
The inn's adjacent room,

`And there a lovely woman stood,
Tears bathed her beauty's bloom.

One moment may with bliss repay
Unnumbered hours of pain;

Such was the throb and mutual sob

Of the Knight embracing Jane.

A DREAM.

WELL may sleep present us fictions,
Since our waking moments teem
With such fanciful convictions
As make life itself a dream.
Half our daylight faith's a fable;
Sleep disports with shadows too,
Seeming in their turn as stable

As the world we wake to view.
Ne'er by day did Reason's mint
Give my thoughts a clearer print
Of assured reality,

Than was left by Phantasy
Stamped and coloured on my sprite
In a dream of yesternight.

In a bark, methought, lone steering,
I was cast on Ocean's strife;
This, 'twas whispered in my hearing,
Meant the sea of life.

Sad regrets from past existence

Came, like gales of chilling breath;
Shadowed in the forward distance
Lay the land of death.

Now seeming more, now less remote,
On that dim-seen shore, methought,
I beheld two hands a space
Slow unshroud a spectre's face;
And my flesh's hair upstood,--
'Twas mine own similitude.

But my soul revived at seeing
Ocean, like an emerald spark,
Kindle, while an air-drept being
Smiling steered my bark.

Heaven-like-yet he looked as human
As supernal beauty can,

More compassionate than woman,
Lordly more than man.

And as some sweet clarion's breath
Stirs the soldier's scorn of death-
So his accents bade me brook
The spectre's eyes of icy look,
Till it shut them-turned its head,
Like a beaten foe, and fled.

"Types not this," I said, " fair spirit!
That my death-hour is not come ?
Say, what days shali I inherit ?—
Tell my soul their sum."

"No," he said, "yon phantom's aspect,
Trust me, would appal thee worse,
Held in clearly measured prospect :-
Ask not for a curse!

Make not, for I overhear

Thine unspoken thoughts as clear
As thy mortal ear could catch

The close brought tickings of a watch.
Make not the untold request

That's now revolving in thy breast.

""Tis to live again, remeasuring
Youth's years, like a scene rehearsed,
In thy second lifetime treasuring
Knowledge from the first.

Hast thou felt, poor self-deceiver!
Life's career so void of pain,

As to wish its fitful fever

New begun again?

Could experience, ten times thine,
Pain from Being disentwine—

Threads by Fate together spun?

Could thy flight heaven's lightning shur?
No, nor could thy foresight's glance

'Scape the myriad shafts of chance.

"Would'st thou bear again Love's trouble-
Friendship's death-dissevered ties;

Toil to grasp or miss the bubble

Of ambition's prize?

Say thy life's new-guided action

Flowed from Virtue's fairest springs-
Still would Envy and Detraction
Double not their stings?

Worth itself is but a charter

To be mankind's distinguished martyr.'
-I caught the moral, and cried, "Hail,
Spirit! let us onward sail

Envying, fearing, hating none,
Guardian Spirit, steer me on!"

REULLURA*.

STAR of the morn and eve,

Reullura shone like thee,

And well for her might Aodh grieve,
The dark-attired Culdee.f

Peace to their shades! the pure Culdees

Were Albyn's earliests priests of God,

* Reullura, in Gaelic, signifies "beautiful star."

†The Culdees were the primitive clergy of Scotland, and apparently her only clergy from the sixth to the eleventh century. They were of Irish origin, and their monastery on the island of Iona or Ikolmill, was the seminary of Christianity in North Britain. Presbyterian writers have wished to prove them to have been a sort of Presbyters, strangers to the Roman Church and Episcopacy. It seems to be established that they were not enemies to Episcopacy-but that they were not slavishly subjected to Rome, like the clergy of later periods, appears by their resisting the Papal ordinances respecting the celibacy of religious men, on which account they were ultimately displaced by the Scottish sovereigns to make way for more Popish canons.